


Cumuli

by coppercaps



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:48:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coppercaps/pseuds/coppercaps
Summary: There is no regret in Rude, no ounce of remorse where perhaps there should be when he sees it from afar. It would have been wrong to deny Reno and dispute his own autonomy, dictate him what he can and cannot do, force him to not assume the role that Reno had chosen for himself.He wonders if he would’ve missed the signs too like his colleagues just had, didn’t he know what he knows. But then again, it’s not a very well-kept secret, the things Reno had done to survive.
Relationships: Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Cumuli

**Author's Note:**

> Something short because a certain scene from Banana Fish hasn’t left my mind since I saw the anime months ago and I felt like I needed to get it out somewhere. Mind the tags, please.

There is no regret in Rude, no ounce of remorse where perhaps there should be when he sees it from afar. It would have been wrong to deny Reno and dispute his own autonomy, dictate him what he can and cannot do, force him to not assume the role that Reno had chosen for himself. Yet Rude can’t help the pang of guilt as he waits for Reno to lash out, and sees his expectations fulfilled when Rod attempts to clap his shoulder in buoyant felicitation. 

Rude wonders if he would’ve missed the signs too like his colleagues just had, didn’t he know what he knows. But then again, it’s not a very well-kept secret, the things Reno had done to survive prior to his engagement with Shinra. 

No one dares to belittle or pity him.   
Maybe because of the way Reno carries himself, proud and extrovert and sassy, never short of a flirt or a vulgar exclamation. Maybe because Turks generally tend to hold only little sympathy for the misery of others, seeing as causing and withstanding destruction was as much a part of their everyday business as money is a part of a salesperson’s professional life, regarded with care and attention yet far from holding any particular meaning, unremarkable outside of its purpose.

Cheerful and in high spirits over Reno’s success to obtain their target and make it out in one piece before (or while) the high-rise building collapsed, the group of five approached the redhead, shouting their exultation and relief. Drowning out the silence of Reno’s normally loud voice, the rigidity in his usually laid-back posture, the precipitousness in his sharp gemstone eyes.  
But Rude heard it, loud and clear, the silence of a ticking bomb ready to explode at the slightest contact with its trigger. 

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”  
Rude calmly walks past the small crowd of dirty, suited men and women once the ignition goes off and the blasting agent combusts. Pulls Rod back by his shoulder to shove him out of reach of the detonation that is a flying fist and a wildly swung elbow, ineffective in its thoughtless attempt to create space and oust everything in its proximity. 

He is sure of shocked faces behind him, feels the unjustified surprise and bafflement against his back like he feels the raging squalls of barely contained emotions against his chest. The tables have turned. Solid silence in his wake, a cyclone before him. Rude recognizes Reno scrambling to build a thick, cloudy wall, to hide his disorderly center behind the pretense of exhaustion and indifference. A strong tug in Rude’s chest pulls him to close the distance between them.

And then he is there, in the eye of the storm. This cold and dry place that Reno shares with no one but him.  
They remain there, standing, acknowledging each other. Time holds no relevance in this strange space, and Rude can’t determine how long they reside unmoving, even if the passing seconds served any meaning.

Rude discards his glasses into his suit’s chest pocket and Reno’s green eyes lift to meet. Strong arms covered in dark skin, uncovered in places by torn threads, wrap around the other’s much more exposed frame, blanketing the spots where debris and weapons and other things, _humans_ , had meddled with him.

Where their skin meets, Rude perceives the erratic twitching of muscles under the assault of residual adrenaline. His thoughts are wordless, a mix of indescribable sensations rather than tangible emotions.

Reciprocation only happens once Rude’s warmth seeps into Reno’s body and mind. Twitches fade to shudders until Reno’s whole body is trembling. With coldness. Exhaustion. Pain. Memories that have been talked through time and time again but remain hurting like an old scar as the weather changes. 

And it does change, as eyes close and a tattooed cheek comes to rest against a solid chest.  
Reno’s arms remain at his side, but Rude doesn’t need them to know that Reno is with him now. Not there, where men tear at his limbs and skin and the mask of his act urges who he is into dark depths. The edges of Reno’s sanity are frayed, but he’s here. In Rude’s arms. Unbroken.

Dark clouds clear. It would take some time to fully assess the storm damage. But that’s alright, Rude thinks.  
He enjoys dealing with destruction.


End file.
